A moment later, the door opens, my mother appearing. Michelle Vitale is beautiful, looking so much younger than her sixty years, and I know it's natural. It's the kind of beauty that comes from years of unconditional love and a lack of stress. It's what my staying away does for her. As much as she might miss me, and love me, I know she's better off away from the reality of my life. I know it, and my father certainly knows it.
It's why he doesn't want me near her.
But I can't help myself today.
There's no cure for life's ills quite like your mother's smiling face.
She beams when she sees me, gasping with surprise, and instantly pulls me into a hug. Her grip is tight. I hug her back.
She has a way of making me feel like that little boy again, and not just the shell of him. All of him.
"Ignazio!" she says. "What a wonderful surprise!"
"Mom," I say, kissing her cheek. "You look as beautiful as ever."
"Oh, you keep your flattery," she says, blushing as she swats at my chest. "Come in, come in… I was just making some lunch."
I hesitate before stepping inside. She shuts the door behind me, making a point to lock it. They never did that when I was growing up, never bothered to lock their doors, just like they used to not worry about security at the deli. Just like there, I wonder if this is a sign of the times changing or if it's something my father did because of me.
I follow her to the kitchen, plopping down in a chair at the small table.
My mother's a spitfire, gossiping and chatting away like no time at all has passed since she last saw me, treating me as if I'm here for lunch every day. She treats me like I belong.
I miss that.
Belonging.
I listen, happily, her voice putting me at ease, and I chime in when she asks something, but otherwise I just let her talk. She's interrupted after a few minutes by the phone ringing, and she scurries to the living room to answer it. I sit in silence for a moment, looking around. Everything still looks like it did years ago.
She returns, spooning some spaghetti onto plates, and turns to me with a smile. "I hope you're hungry."
I return her smile as she sets the plate in front of me, joining me at the table with a plate of her own. I bow my head instinctively as she says a quick prayer before I grab my fork, stabbing at the pasta.
"This isn't poisoned, is it?" I ask, taking a bite.
She laughs, reaching across the table to smack my arm. "You know better than that, Ignazio. Who in the world would try to poison my boy with spaghetti?"
I shrug a shoulder. "You'd be surprised."
She launches back into gossip again. I just enjoy the company and the homemade meal. My plate is practically licked clean when I push it away, leaning back in the chair. I'm about to thank her, the words on the tip of my tongue, when there's a pounding on the front door. My muscles tense as she lets out an exaggerated sigh, pushing her chair back to stand.
"That's probably your father," she says, rolling her eyes. "He always forgets his house key."
"Were you expecting him for lunch?" I ask.
"No, but I'm not surprised he's here," she says. "That was him that called a bit ago… he was so surprised when I told him you were visiting. He thought I was pulling his leg, said he couldn't believe you were here."
My stomach sinks as she says that.
She thinks his surprise is good.
I know it's not.
I push my chair back and stand up. I follow her, hearing the familiar voice as soon as she opens the front door. It's not my father, no, but he sent somebody. I expect no less.
"Ma'am, is Ignazio Vitale here?"
Jameson.
My mother seems flustered. "Uh, yeah, sure." She turns to call for me, but I'm already standing there. My eyes meet Jameson's as his dance with amusement. Any reason to harass me is a field day to him.
"I'm assuming my father called you?"
Jameson nods.
"I wasn't aware petty trespassing was your jurisdiction."
"We also have a few questions for you."
"Of course you do."
"Trespassing?" my mother asks. "Who's trespassing?"
"I am," I tell her, leaning over to kiss her cheek again. "Thanks for lunch, Mom. It was great seeing you."
I step out onto the porch as an officer pulls out his handcuffs.
"Can you do that when she's not looking?" I ask. "Out of respect?"
My question is ignored, unsurprisingly, as I'm thrown against the railing, my arms forced behind my back. Once I'm handcuffed, I'm dragged toward a nearby car. I glance back at my mother, lingering in the doorway. She's horrified, eyes wide. She looks so much older now, just like that.
I should've just stayed away…
I don't say anything on the drive to the police station.
Nor do I say anything once we get there.
As usual, they wait until my lawyer arrives to even try to question me. We sit in the small dingy interrogation room, my arms crossed over my chest, as Jameson and his partner, Andrews, sit across from us.
"What is this about?" my lawyer asks. "I hope it's not to ask the same questions as before. My client knows nothing about the murder of Daniel Santino."
"Or John Rita… or the murder of John's wife, Carmela? He knows nothing of them either, right?"
"I'm sure if my client had any information about them, he would've come to you. But just because they used to be acquainted doesn't mean he knows what came of them."
"What about their daughter, Karissa?" Jameson asks, looking dead in my face as he speaks. "Does he have any information about her?"
"What about her?" the lawyer asks.
"We have reason to believe she's missing."
"Missing?" The word is from my lips instantly. My lawyer shoots me a glare that tells me to be quiet, as usual, but I can't help myself. Not when it comes to this. "What makes you think she's missing?"
"We received a report that—"
"A report," I chime in, cutting him off. "Someone filed a missing person's report? Because you just saw her yourself less than twenty-four hours ago, detective, so I'm not quite sure why your department would take a report on an adult who was just seen last night."
He pauses, glaring at me. "We received information from a source."
"A source."
"Yes, a source."
"And what did your source say, exactly?" I ask. "Because I can assure you, she isn't missing, and there's no reason for anyone to think she is."
"So is she at your house?" Jameson asks. "Because we went by there and nobody answered. She also didn't attend her classes today."